


Red Strings and White Balloons

by momota



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M, OC, Violence, be the protag idrc marlow's p dope : ), but im vibin the "dumb clown falls in love n is super careful abt it" mood ykno, it's more fluff thn im sorry if u signed up 4 smut, uhh im not good at tagging shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momota/pseuds/momota
Summary: Your name is Marlow. You're quite the adventurous fellow. You've also caught yourself in an unfortunate position faced against Derry's clown.





	1. ENTRANCE

**Author's Note:**

> oh haha hi. i really dont know where this is going, and i'll end up constantly editing it over and over. the tags will update as the story goes. pleaza be gentla bc i rarely proofread the stuff i post. this is more oc heavy than penny heavy, but maybe i can flip it around at some point, who knows : ^ )
> 
> oh yea im also one of those Canadians who puts a u after the o in certain words, b4 anyone calls me out on spellin errors. punctuation n grammar tho? haha tht is not gonna b perf sorry bout tht

Maybe, _just maybe_ , Marlow accepted the unruly fate that he locked himself into when he heard a gleeful laugh from the grim house on the corner of Neibolt street. Panic set into his heart, and he clutched onto a worn out back pack that aged decently over time. Mismatched colours of stitching tightening bands and seams, messily done as if it was sewn by a child, but an essence of untold joyful memories clung onto the threads. Marlow clung onto those memories, but always knew that he could buy new rainbow threads for new stitches.

Marlow took a deep sigh as he turned the knob on the decaying door, croaking loudly as if it wore a glaring red stop sign boldly in front of Marlow. To Marlow, however, it was just a simple, worn-out door.

The light of the sun seeped through the boarded-up windows that had been broken down over time by rowdy teens who had enough rocks in their hands and not enough care for consequences that passed by that home. A tree had grown in the center of the living room, though the leaves had grown dead and spider webs had made itself at home there. Mice and rats ran about the floors and walls, occasionally on the piano and chimney and just about anywhere they could put their dear little paws on. The walls and floors creaked and hummed as the wind breezed through, slipping through cracks and holes like the light did. The scent of the home was barely welcoming, halting time much like the furnishing inside the dingy building. Marlow closed his eyes and kept his steps soft and quiet.

In his mind, Marlow knew that he should not be there. He did not have any right to be there, but he felt deep in his heart that that laughter _wanted_ him to be there. He tried to make sense of where that laughter came from, where the source was, but was lost in the small yet large home. He felt engulfed by the pause of everything in there.

Then the laughter came.

It sounded inviting, as if a hand appeared in front of Marlow, urging him to follow each finger’s little waves. Without realizing it, Marlow found himself at the edge of the entrance to the basement on the small, quiet house on Neibolt street. The breeze stopped below, and little light had the courage to make its way down there. The stairs were unsteadily crooked, and though Marlow could see the floor of the basement, he couldn’t help but feel as if those old stairs were much longer and much winding than he thought it would be.

 Marlow gulped, a sense of anxiety and fear dripping over his head. His knees began to shake, his palms were clammy, and his nose feeling runny with the familiar touch of metal and scent of iron filling his mind. Marlow’s nose had begun bleeding.

“Shit,” Marlow muttered under his breath as he knelt to reach for a tissue or ten from his backpack. “This is fun, really fun,” he said, his voice cracking at the blood dripping over and staining his lips.

Marlow immediately stopped, his bare hand reaching for his nose and wiping off the blood without care. How could he care? A clean, unstained napkin sat peacefully on the steps of the chair, close enough for him to grab even while he knelt. He could have sworn that it was not there before, and Marlow couldn’t trust such convenience to be good. He continued to dig for his own tissue, and the napkin remained, undisturbed by the world around it.

The wind pressed cold on Marlow’s cheeks, now stained red with the blood poorly wiped off his mouth. His fingers shivered and shook about, desperately clinging onto soaked tissues with the same red from his nose. Yet, his feet held themselves still from starting the flight of steps leading towards the unknown.

Marlow took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles and picking himself up carefully from the wooden floors of the house. His hands shivered, but Marlow held his chin straight forward, proud and all. There was nothing to be proud of, but pretending helped him feel better. It was a small bit of courage that Marlow had to scrape from a moment of unknown panic. Though, a plate of fear served itself up directly to Marlow as he came across the winding stairs, and Marlow did not want to know what else might come out of the rest of his small adventure.

Each plank of old wood creaked. Marlow’s steps were slow and steady, brave yet still afraid. He felt like a child, scared yet demanding to know the unknown. It was the natural curious instinct of a human. Marlow felt human.

By the minute his foot laid touch to the ground, Marlow felt the gentle wisps of wind come around him again. The light forced itself to shine through the cracks and holes, and the scent of old, crummy basement became alive. At that point, the stairs felt nothing more than just a small bridge in time and space for Marlow. It was a marvel by itself, a terrifying marvel indeed.

The air loosened itself. Marlow kept his slow and steady steps, looking around the dusty basement. A torn down well slouched alone, the light shining on it with grace unlike the well itself (it was dirty and stained with colours that Marlow couldn’t really figure out.) He approached the well, and the same halt hit him as he saw what was held inside.

It was nothing.

The well had nothing but old rocks and an entrance to the sewers that could only be reached by climbing down towards the entrance. The bottom of the well was even farther than the stairs, all Marlow could see was ungodly pitch black that led to nowhere. The light and the wind began to retreat in fear, and Marlow could feel that same panic rise in him again.

Frightened fingers clutched onto the worn-out straps of a worn-out backpack as Marlow gulped. He didn’t want to rock climb his way down, but he carried no rope or anything he could use to ease himself safely down towards that entrance. He looked around, wondering if the same convenient napkin would manifest itself into a rope. Much to his surprise, Marlow spotted a long spindle of thick rope hidden and stashed away from the well.

The rope was long and had knots convenient tied at appropriate intervals, as if it was placed there specifically to be used to climbed down. Marlow protested with his own mind; one side begging to use the rope and the other unsure with the sudden placement.

Marlow settled the debate as he reached out for the rope and threw it over the slab of wood that kept itself strongly above over the well. It was a traditional dug-out well, and the house was simply built over it. Marlow couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want a well in their home.

With enough wondering and pondering, Marlow pulled a harsh tug on the rope. Satisfied with its security, Marlow held onto the rope and lowered his body slowly. His foot clung onto the rocks while his hands clung onto the rope; within seconds, Marlow had reached the entrance to Derry’s sewer system.  


	2. DISCOVERY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raw meat is a godawful scent, and the sound of wailing has never more caused an ominous feeling to the heart. It's a warning cry, of pain and detest. Usually, someone wailing aggressively into the open air is almost synonymous to a banshee's ungodly screech. Usually, someone wailing with anger in their throat with the words "DO NOT APPROACH" should not be approached at any costs. Usually, such wailing should be enough of a reason to send any smart folk home, where they can sleep and rest in nightmarish peace. 
> 
> But to Marlow, such weeping was just another treat for the curious cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH WOW! im sorry this whole thing is gonna be a fuckin slow walk 2 the park. this whole chapter is still abt marlow bc wow i lov my oc!!! but ur ugly clown boy will show up yea yea. 
> 
> im sorry it isnt spicy!!!! every fic in this tag is so.. Spicy (god i wish that were m) but i am living for this slow build up so pleaza stick aroundza :"^)

Marlow found himself revolted with the scent of urine and feces wafting through the air like the world’s most godawful marching band, with percussion made of stinky beats pounding on his head. Part of him wanted to run outside and climb his way out of the home to reach the scent of sweet, fresh, beautiful air. However, part of him also wanted to finish the journey that he began without any sort of critical thinking.

Navigating through the sewer proved to be difficult, with Marlow’s main source of light coming from a battered down flashlight (of which had served him loyally over his years of adulthood.) The bobbing and sloshing of the water nauseated Marlow, and his legs would occasionally come contact to an unidentifiable object that left Marlow afraid of what might lurk in the waters. Though the feeling reminded him of the beaches by his old home, those memories failed to be fragrant with the pervasive scent of shit and piss invading his nose. Nonetheless, Marlow forced his legs to push through the sewer waters, playing adventure in the dark to ease his nerves.

Minutes felt like hours until Marlow came to another entrance; an entrance with a dry cement floor. The cold pressure lifted from Marlow’s legs and he took a deep breath as the putrid scent halted at the entrance (although it wasn’t as if the scent had completely dispersed, it had seemingly refrained from entering that territory.) Marlow took a deep breath and smiled, finishing the sewers and coming to a completely new environment he has never seen before.

Until a new odour came to his senses.

He was never a big fan of most things raw, Marlow felt that there was an uncomfortable touch and scent to such things. Raw cookie dough never appealed to him, perhaps it was his mother’s constant warnings of salmonella. Raw eggs were an obvious, obvious reason for him to dislike. Sushi, despite being edible and proven so, still left a rather unappealing sensation in his tongue. In this dance of abhorrent textures and scents, raw meat came to Marlow as his biggest enemy.

The new environment reeked of raw, open, meaty red flesh. It was the same pungent scent as a butcher’s uncleaned kitchen, and Marlow immediately began to miss the filthy matter that stained his boots in the sewers. Raw, red, marbled meat could only be handled by Marlow with gloves and a mask over his nose. The watered-out blood and fluids that left the meat and stained his kitchen counter-tops often made him nauseous. He never understood or remembered why he grew such distaste for such a common ingredient. Nonetheless, Marlow walked on the cement, hoping to explore something, anything, to make up for the distasteful scent.

The center of the large dome held a hoarder’s dream; an amalgam of old and new objects stolen from anywhere and everywhere. The collection of piled up waste from the folks of Derry accumulated itself until it reached up all the way to the gridded bars that blocked off the dome from the barrens outside. The pile thinned out at the top, where the lights gently laid itself down on whatever it could find, much like the gentle lights of the Neibold house. Marlow stood back, carefully walking around the pile and holding his chin up as the pile loomed over him. Near the base of the pile was a grand wooden crate, much like the old circus crates that carried animals and entertainers in them. Perhaps they could be compared to such crates because that was what it seemed to be like to Marlow.

The crate had scratched off paint, worn out by the time passing it. The center marked an emblem, the face of a jolly clown with the words ‘PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN’ around the clown’s face. Marlow felt somewhat afraid of the huge crate, but assumed it was just a remnant of the pile’s lucky day of meeting such a big and lovely addition to the collection.

At the corner of his ear, he heard a faint yet growing sound; it brought him a level of unease and anxiety. It was as if Marlow had been brought back to the crooked stairs, the clean napkin failing to make itself appear in convenience to ground him. The shape of this new-found place didn’t help much, with the dome doing a rather swell job of emphasizing on the wailing echoing through its chambers. There was someone else in that massive room, and they were in pain.

Marlow took quiet, gentle steps, looking for the source as the wailing continued. The voice was every bit unnatural; it was feminine yet masculine, high yet low, raspy yet high-pitched. It was if it struggled to make up its mind on what it should sound like. It was bothered too much by the pain that riddled its aching body to worry about such small aspect. All the voice wanted to do was wail endlessly in hopes to numb the pain.

While his steps were calm and at ease, Marlow’s heart said otherwise. It was beating rapidly through the cages of his rib, anxiety and nerves hitting him wild like thunder with each pound. Marlow took deep breathes, pacing his steps to his inhales and exhales. The wailing came closer and closer, until it was literally right around the corner.

With consternation at the unknown, Marlow took a turn and found himself multiple feet away from a large, weeping figure.

The figure had red hair, stained by grey water. The gray cloth that wrapped around the body was dirty, with dull lines striping down the torso that hunched over. Red droplets fell on the floor, yet some floated towards the light. Its back faced Marlow, who stood in perplexed acknowledgement. It had not noticed Marlow standing figure, quietly distanced from whatever crying being it was.

This wallowing thing stained in red and gray kept weeping and weeping. Marlow stood still and quiet. He wanted to disturb the wailing and weeping, but he also wanted to turn the hell around and run from the sewers, and maybe Derry, as far as possible. The internal conflict that tore Marlow kept at it, tugging his head and giving him another headache. The being before him kept crying, drowning itself in its inhuman sounds.

Marlow took a step, but forgot the care he had worked so hard to put on all his previous steps. His foot slid over the cement, making that lazy sound a stumbling child made on a pavement.

The weeping stopped.

Marlow gulped. The rapid beating returned to him. Anxiety and dread begin to fill his body up, and he could feel sweat clamming up in his palms. Perhaps it was a massive mistake; a massively, under-thought mistake that Marlow subconsciously regretted. He wanted to turn his heel and book for it. Thoughts raced his mind, none of them were coherent, and his headache got worse. His legs desperately tried to tug themselves away from that thing, but Marlow was stuck frozen. He felt the same force that drew him into that godforsaken home. Marlow wanted to hit himself, hit himself as hard as possible for refusing to listen to the red flag warnings and the stop signs that plastered themselves in front of his face. The familiar red drip fell over his lips, and Marlow knew that every fiber in his being was absolutely wrecked.

It was at that moment, that the thing decided to turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh hi!!! welcom 2 the end. thabks 4 readin. stick around 4 the next chapter where the nickeldumb the standing fool shows up finally!!!
> 
> uh also! sorry it's short too lmao. theres nothing much here other thn marlow REALLY fuckin hates butchers n raw shit. mama warned him abt tht salmonella way tooo much :/


	3. FEAR AND MOCKERY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laughter is the quickest way to cope with the oddest and -often unfortunate- events in our life. Marlow figures that, but can't tell if the need to piss his pants is from fear or stopping himself from laughing at the clown in front of him. Though, he is still a human; a kind human who can still feel pity for the filthy thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm wild!!! marlow laughs @ a clown n realizes wow.. hes kinda sad maybe /i/ shouldnt do that ://
> 
> also IM SICK sorry this was late
> 
> uh yeah im .. slow at gettin 2 the action im sorry bout that : (

Had it not been for his sheer self-control and restraint, Marlow would have shat his pants right then and there.

The creature turned around, its face was halted and its eyes were glazed; but it was clearly paying attention to the sudden guest in its lair. It slowly rose up, face never breaking contact from Marlow’s burning eyes. It had this look of an animal, rising and observing as if it was waiting for Marlow to make a move. Part of Marlow knew that he should’ve booked it as fast as his stained legs could. Part of him was also struck with this child-like wonder, the sort of wonder that gets you in trouble for sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. When the creature got to its full height, Marlow finally realized the grave danger he had put his dumb ass in.

That _thing_ practically loomed over Marlow’s smaller frame. Marlow knew it was stupid to call it a thing, because such signature red nose and peculiar appearance made it obnoxiously clear that it was a clown. A grossly terrifying clown of monstrous size. The dirty grey became clearer as a vintage clown suit reminiscent of Victorian era clown suits, with oddly bright red pom-poms that stood out on its wide chest. The ruffles on its neck were filthy stained with tears and blood, but the bells that clung on so desperately at the ends jingled at every shift and slight movement that the thing gave. The clown’s face was stained white and dirt, with marks of cuts and bruises and a bleeding right eye. Twin red lines came out of the corner of its mouth and stretched itself outwards through its eyes, creating a smile that was too large to even be considered comical. Marlow couldn’t articulate in his mind how gargantuan this clown was compared to him, to his small shaking body.

Certainly, it was a clown; a grisly and horrid clown.

The clown, however, failed to have a grisly, horrid smile smeared on its face like most clowns usually do. Instead, it held a sad frown. Marlow couldn’t help but hold in a giggle, somewhat amused at the sad hulking clown before him. The clown had bruises and cuts smeared all over its face, and its eyes were bloodshot red. Marlow couldn’t figure if that red was from excessive crying or from blood, but the clown as dirty to the extent that it was nearly indistinguishable. Not to mention that the physical filth was accompanied by rancid odour. It was accompanied with the scent of the sewers and _raw meat._

Still, the clown still looked ridiculous to Marlow. Of course, it was terrifying. With its tremendous size, filthy exterior, rugged costume, beaten up face, and slacking body; the clown was still worth fearing. However, it was also absolutely, utterly, and ridiculously peculiar that it easily invoked a sense of amusement in the adventurous lad. The anxiety that once wrecked Marlow vanished, and instead came a sense of humour at this poor clown.

What was it that invoked such humour in Marlow was unbeknownst to him. Perhaps Marlow had strongly associated clowns with foolishness, the scent of overpriced carnival food, the noise of children screaming and parents sighing. Perhaps such strong association was why he lacked the instinctive capability to prioritize his fear, his _gut_ telling him to go. Clowns were supposed to invoke laughter and joy, and though joy didn’t make itself present; Marlow had to challenge his self-restraint once more before pointing at the clown and letting out a laugh. Instead, Marlow held his hand over his mouth, fear of the unknown that stood lethargically before him. It would be crude to laugh at a dejected fool in its own humble abode, especially if the later came from an unexpected (and probably unwanted guest.) Marlow would not let his laughter be the end of him for the day.

It stood limply so, like a sad sea creature forcibly held out of the water. Its body seemed as if it was aggressively dragged and raked through Derry’s barrens. The thing was like an overused and forgotten toy that Marlow began to feel sorry for.

And sorry he felt. Marlow approached the creature, who stoop torpid and quiet from the sobs and wailing, with caution. The creature dwarfed Marlow, standing a head over him despite hunching its back and leaning its head down to the ground. Though the slobbering tears stopped, Marlow could spot orbs of red and drool leaving the clown’s face. Marlow took another gentle step towards it, his face contorting into concern as he tried to lean down to look directly at the its face.

As Marlow turned his torso down, hoping to get a clearer look at the clown, the creature shot up. It let out a low growl, and took a step back. It was wary of Marlow’s presence, and more so with Marlow’s sudden yet expected approach. The clown stumbled with its step, and took more until its body had laid down back to its corner. It was as if time had reverted it to when Marlow had just stumbled into this den. The only difference was the lack of tension that Marlow bled his nose for.

Marlow sighed, losing the primitive fear that wobbled him previously. The clown was stagnant, unmoving maybe because it was too tired to move. Marlow inched closer, and the clown let out the same guttural growl.

“I am _not_ taking this from some dirty, depressed clown,” Marlow huffed. He tapped his foot on the cold cement, arms folded as he thought of a solution to this dilemma. Does he leave the clown or stay and care for it? Why should he even be concerned with the clown in the first place? It didn’t seem like it wanted to be touched or approached in the first place. Yet, the scent of fresh blood and raw meat glared more alarms at Marlow. He could’ve picked it up as a sign that the clown was simply danger to him.  

 _Or,_ Marlow thought, _he’s just badly injured and really needs some help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pleasa commenta. idk comments r rly nice!!! n keeps me from being emo


	4. IMPROMPTU BANDAGES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew a lack of eye contact brought such comfortable ease? 
> 
> It's not every day you find yourself in the decrepit sewers of Derry, and it's not every day you find yourself taking care of a clown. The pungent scent of shit and raw meat fills the air, but the bandages are still wrapped as tight as they need to be. 
> 
> Striking up a conversation with the clown might not be so bad, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh WOW GUESS WHOS HERE WITH THE FANDOM DEAD N MONTHS LATE FOR AN UPDATE also i m still shit at chapter summaries! :)

       

               “It’ll hurt more if you struggle,” Marlow tightened the makeshift bandages around the clown’s waist. If Marlow had to guess, at least two hours of his time has passed. Traversing through the sewers and watching a clown rise from its somber corner only to have it loom over one’s unfortunately small figure takes more than a few minutes to occur. Despite the time he has spent beneath the surface, Marlow figured that it would do him and the damaged jester better if he slowed down his entertaining attempt to patch up the hulking figure. Marlow held his breath as he tightened the bandage, tight enough to stop the consistent bleeding but not so tight enough to feel like a poorly laced up corset.

                The clown, whose face had slowly transfigured itself from malcontent to neutral confusion (or was it just his eyes, lingering away from each other?) was still. Blue glassy eyes strayed away from Marlow’s figure. This did not bring any worry to Marlow’s already scrambled mind, the lack of confrontation with the creature’s eyes brought in a sense of security in the distance between the two. Sure, they were close in contact, but Marlow felt safely away from the clown, as long as it kept its wandering eyes away from Marlow.

                It grew pleasantly still, perhaps the clown enjoyed the company and the impromptu nurse’s office that this peculiar stranger brought into it’s quiet little den. Or, Marlow was too afraid and focused to break the still between him, the clown, and the rest of Derry, Maine.

                Marlow had to remind himself to not hold his breath so tightly as he continued with the bandages. He had locked himself in an unusual setting, an uncomfortably unusual setting. Here he was, wrapping up a frail clown in the depths of Derry’s cavernous and foul sewers. Had he not walked himself into the enticing doors of Neibold, then Marlow would surely be at his home. Yes, at his home, newly renovated in his new town of Derry, with a new pet and new furnishing and a new life right in front of him.  He closed the makeshift bandage with a knot, beginning another wrap around the creature’s waist.

                And yet, Marlow was stuck here, paying kindness to the clown dwelling in the depths of Derry.

                “So...,” Marlow trailed off. He questioned himself even though he had already let a word slip out of his mouth. Was it worth trying to start a conversation with this clown? A conversation with this colossal clown that stood over the entirety of Marlow’s being? Marlow bit his lip as he wrapped another knot, unsure as to what to say to begin his first attempt at a normal conversation. He looked up at the clown, “... You live here?”

                Just as Marlow began another wrapping around the clown’s waist, he made two realizations. The first, was that it was stupid to ask the creature who smelled exactly like the sewers if it had _lived_ there. The second, was that Marlow had finished wrapping up the injuries on this clown. He realized that and held onto his arms to brace himself. Marlow was not certain of what the clown could and would do to him, and the realization that he had really asked such a simplistic question made him want to hit his head (enough to maybe wake him up from what might just be a dream.)

                “Yes,” the clown let out a low response.

                Marlow blinked. Once for his eyes had gotten dry, and twice for he had registered that the clown could speak.

                “Oh! Uh...”

                Marlow was not the best at conversations.

                “So...”

                In fact, he was really bad at conversations.

                “What’s it uh... like?”

                Marlow was fucking bad at conversations.

                The clown didn’t respond, it’s glassy eyes unmoving (though they still lingered away from each other), - it remained still and silent. However, Marlow did not like this still and silent move that the clown was pulling. Marlow went through Neibold, he struggled and waded his poor lanky legs over the rancid waters of Derry’s sewer, he put up with the scent of raw meat and god knows what, and he helped wrap this clown up from the apparent injury on its waist: Marlow was not going to let his weak conversation skills die at this point. If the clown won’t entertain him, then Marlow will just talk as if he were talking to himself.

                “I think Derry is pretty nice,” Marlow continued, “the people are sweet, and there it is pretty scenic.”

                Marlow waited for a second, hoping for a response but continued when silence answered, “I’m just saying, it is a great place for inspiration, no wonder a lot of artists come here. The place is beautiful, I know I said it before, but you’ve got to appreciate nature, y’know? And there’s so many things to do here, I thought it’d be a dead town with just a few festivals or celebrations throughout the year but it’s livelier than I expected it to be. Everyone seems to know each other, I think that’s really sweet. I’m starting to know some people. Though, I’ve been told a lot of writers like being here, too.”

                Another second, no response.

                “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a place having an abundance of writers. But nowadays, it feels like writers have their area that’s theirs and theirs alone. Like, wasn’t there already a guy that got famous who lived in Maine? I don’t know, I don’t really keep track of that anymore,” Marlow sighed.

                “Though I guess I can’t say anything about that, since I’m a writer, too. I like to write poems, and short stories, but mostly poems. I don’t really pay attention to see who gets famous and successful, since I’m really doing what I do for fun. But I will say, I think there’s a lot of poise and beauty in poems that you really just can’t capture anywhere else, but that’s the thing with art, right?”

                Marlow looked down, “Art just captures beauty, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I think it captures more than that. I think,” Marlow looked up at the clown, “I think it captures life.”

                The sight that Marlow looked at in front of his own poor human eyes left his spine feeling cold. The clown looked dead straight on Marlow, eyes together and focused on the smaller man who had entered the clown’s home. The clown’s eyes were no longer glassy. Silence knocked between the two, and Marlow began questioning when the clown began looking at him.

                He also began questioning if and when the clown had started listening to him.

                “You talk an awful lot for a human,” the clown finally responded again. Marlow froze up, body caught in the clown’s voice, distorted but threatening- inviting, yet alarming. The same feeling of dread that first hit Marlow crept up again.

                Marlow noticed a glint in the clown’s eyes. It then dawned on him, had the clown’s eyes always been yellow?

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow.. ur here.. at the end of the chapter... 
> 
> congrats!!! 
> 
> also - im so sorry for like.. disappearing. a lot kinda happened in my life (i graduated, i got my first bf n also got dumped by my first bf, n now im doing adult.. shit) 
> 
> im also sorry that this fic is also still going relatively slow!!! i swear im thinking of Somethin to ramp it up ;A; but im bad at writing pornz (bc prolly.. ive never done that before so when it happens that'll be exciting). if u actually.. read the whole thing .. n ur down here thank u so so so much for like. reading it idec if u liked it or not im just glad it got ur interest enough to READ it. 
> 
> ik this is like.. a stupid fic between a self indulgent oc n a Clown but all the comments abt it really do mean a lot to me!!! (it's also the biggest reason im like.. here updating this with a new chapter al;jdflkaga). so one more time- thank u so much!!!! i hope u stick around for the #next chapter i swear i wont make u wait over half a year for it...


	5. UNAFRAID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, all that really matters was that the two saw eye to eye. However hungry the clown was, it knew it couldn't eat something that was as bland and unafraid as Marlow. Marlow, on the other hand, is just tired of this entire debacle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... ;w; hhhii... guess who has a chapter for u.. guys?
> 
> this one is a bit longer thn.. lit all the chapters which imo isnt a lot in comparison to some other work ive seen here. anyways, i still hope u guys enjoy!!

                Was it that bright? The sharp glint of the clown’s eyes, along with its somewhat concerning response, flashed red stop lights in front of Marlow’s eyes. For some reason, his mind was still caught up on whether the clown’s eyes were a safe sea blue or if they were a striking set of yellow orbs. Were they that sharp? That _threatening_? Or did Marlow’s eyes fool him? He didn’t have the sharpest eyesight after all, but he didn’t have a need for contacts or glasses so certainly it was blue, right?

                Marlow did not notice the growing shadow that dominated over him. He did not notice that the clown had stood up, a foul grin splitting its face. He did not notice the sharp glint of yellow surrounded by tired red. However, he did notice the scent of raw meat leaving him, leaving the sewer.

                The scent of shit and piss still lingered, but above it all was the pervasive scent of burnt popcorn. Was it burnt popcorn? Or was he smelling cotton candy? Or perhaps it was peanuts? Marlow realized that it was all reminiscent of a fair, like a carnival with small rides and shows.

                The perfect place to find a clown.

                But all that aside, Marlow was still lost in the first question that boggled his poor human mind. What colour were its eyes?

                A low guttural sound echoed. This brought Marlow back to his senses. The moment his mind landed back on the physical living world around him (instead of the train of questions he was running), he held his breath upon seeing the clown loom over his smaller figure.

                Marlow is no fighter. He was never the type to pick a fight or be confrontational. His parents raised him with the idea that it’s better to take a seat and wait things out rather than run recklessly into the problem. Of course, it wasn’t like he had grown up sheltered by the naivety of this idea. Marlow learned to pick the right battles, the ones he can hold himself up without anyone getting hurt in the process. It was not that he was a pacifist, he simply just didn’t want to get anyone unnecessarily hurt.

                He had grown into his adulthood learning enough things to keep him alive, surviving long enough to get him to the small town of Derry, Maine. He had developed a career for himself, albeit quiet and unknown, it was something he had wanted since he was at the age to want things. He had lived through relationships, through successes and failures, through the lowest of the low and the highest of the high. Marlow had toughed it out long enough, all the while staying true to what his parents taught him and true to his own self.

                He had lived through life as much as he wanted and needed to.

                However, living does not necessitate absolute preparation for everything life has to offer. After all, no individual can foretell what is about to happen to them at any given moment. All anyone can do is hope, pray, expect, and prepare. At the end of the day, it all came down to how anyone dealt with anything that came across their path.

                Marlow, who has always been expected to be compliant and confrontational only when necessary, is now at a point where his life has not really prepared him for the particular situation he has caught himself in. No one tells you how to deal with a domineering clown ready to make a hunt.

                As they say, just deal with it.

                Marlow looked at the clown, gulping down his anxiety and holding his chin high up once more. He was not necessarily proud, but he had enough in him to hold his head in direct eyesight with the clown.

                He thought to himself, ‘ _This is what animals do to each other right? They just stare each other down until someone backs off?’_

                Marlow maintained the direct confrontational stare right back at the clown. The clown, looming over with his height and the guttural sounds the left his body only spelled threat in front of Marlow’s eyes. The two were in a silent stand-off, with no bullet to hold against each other except themselves. Marlow still wasn’t certain what the clown could do, and he had enough questions to write him an epic in his mind, but this was not the time to try and answer any of that.

                The sight, had any onlooker been present (like that would ever happen), was comedic. Marlow was small, standing a little over five foot six. His apparent opponent, on the other hand, stood at an alarming six foot who knows. Marlow was too short to see how tall the clown really was (and Marlow thought, ‘ _It just seems like it’s getting bigger every time it gets up,’_ which, in frank honesty, might be the actual reality in front of him.) Despite the alarming danger of the situation, the scent of carnival food and the awkward confrontation between the two was just funny to look at. It didn’t make sense.

                But, in Marlow’s sight, it was a genuine life or death scenario.

                And so, he kept staring down the clown.

                Minutes passed, and no movement between the two. Marlow realized that he had began holding his breath once again and tried his utter best to relax in the uncomfortable tension that he had contributed himself to.

                Half an hour has passed, or at least Marlow thought it was half an hour. He had not _dared_ to move his eyesight away from the clown’s striking yellow orbs. The guttural sounds still came and went, and the clown hadn’t done much moving or looking away either. The two were reaching a point of stagnancy that they were exhausting themselves. Marlow, tired of the suspense and unwarranted scare, wanted to sit down and sleep. His eyes were ready to clock out. The clown, on the other hand, was simply hungry. However, any hungry being is weak when it’s drained of energy.

                The two were draining themselves, and both of them wanted to sit down and deal with this confrontation at a different time. Marlow, when his eyes are well rested, and he’s accustomed himself to the fact that he’s made enemies with this clown (which, to an extent, filled him with resentment as he had tried his own best as nursing the clown to some decent health) and the clown, when its stomach is filled with whatever delight it feasted on.

                “You know,” Marlow coughed up his words, “I think we’re, uh, good for today.”

                The clown came to a silent halt.

                “Like, I really don’t want to assume things, but you’re obviously not,” Marlow stopped to look for the right words.

                The clown, letting go of the consistent split wide-open grin, grimaced at Marlow. It waited for his words, intrigued with what the human was about to say.

                “Well, you’re not really... _well_ ,” Marlow gulped as he finished his sentence. There he was, the inch of human creativity found in Marlow’s odd plea to call the stare down at a tie. He hoped that pointing out the blatant obvious would make the clown back down.

                “Is that so?” the clown spoke, a voice mixed of high and low pitch, as if it couldn’t make its mind up, “well then.”

                The clown took a step towards Marlow, and Marlow realized that his plea did not go through the clown’s mind as he hoped it would. “I don’t think I’m unwell,” the clown took another step, “but I do think a little snack won’t hurt.”

                The repugnant scent of raw meat wafted over Marlow’s nose at the term ‘little snack,’ and the clown approaching closer towards him only froze him on the spot.

                The clown, in the entirety of this unusual scenario, found itself enamored and interested in the snack in front of it. It wasn’t the first human to find itself lost in its home, nor was it the first human it enticed to come into its home. However, surprise came in the form in that the human really did wrap bandages around its waist. It was certainly unnecessary, as it was more than capable of healing itself. The human’s plea only made it more intriguing. It was a plea to stay alive, but to consider the clown first? What an approach. Of course, it wasn’t special, no human was special enough for the it.

                However, it was upset at the fact that the human was right. It was _genuinely_ tired enough to put up with the comical stand-off. It hadn’t been able to have any sort of food for the past few days, and the starvation pushed it to exhaustion.

                As much as the clown wanted to eat the human in front of it, it also knew that it would be an unsatisfactory (and mind you, _unsavoury_ ,) meal. Of course, the human was threatened, it sensed danger, it _knows_  that it is in danger. However, the clown still knew that it would be a fruitless effort if it tried to eat the fragile thing.

                All simply because Marlow was not afraid of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> n if ur here, it means u made it to the end! (or u just dragged ur page to get here which is perfectly valid)
> 
> i got to work like... five hours early because im really illiterate so i ended up running over to a cafe w/ wifi to write this chapter. i stole a guy's seat bc my laptop was abt to die and like... i was not ready to finish the other half for the night. (i like to write my chapters in one... sitting bc im brave like that) 
> 
> ive been thinking about where i want this story to go, and i think she'll be just a bit over 10 chapters. i dont know how to conclude it yet but uhhh It's Gonna Be Somewhat Not As Depressing i think. marlow's too good of a person to let things end on such a sad note. on that note, ive been thinking of writing other stuff and posting it up here (by stuff i mean fanfic ldjfalkja) but i realized tht im more self indulgent thn anything so who knows what'll happen to that. 
> 
> anyways,  
> as always
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sticking around, please drop a word or two bc ur comments r rly the Biggest thing tht keeps this dumb bitch going. i hope u guys enjoyed the chapter, stick around for the next one! :)


	6. PENNYWISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlow is remembering bits of his previous life, prior to Derry and prior to this clown. He can't help but feel sentimental, but at least everything he's done has given a tool or two up to this point. Although, he's concerned as to how he can get himself out of this situation. Marlow breathes, an answer will be found soon.
> 
> The clown worries, but worry not as it finds a solution to its hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont u lov it when ur fic updates at like.. an unholy hour during the day??
> 
> anyways heres a sixth chapter !!! :"^)

                That lack of fear worried and intrigued the clown.

                _Worried?_

The clown found itself dry, - dry lips, dry mouth, dry air, and dry between its legs. In the brilliant expanse of the clown’s mind, it found itself pondering about the worry as silence fell between the two. _Why on earth should an absolute being like it be worried?_

                Marlow stumbled back a step, feeling pressure in the air as the clown maintains a close gap between the two. Marlow was stuck uncertain in what the clown had decided to do in its mind, trying to figure out whether or not the clown agrees to settle or if the scent of the sewers (which has made itself a small home in Marlow’s mind) would be the last thing he’d remember before what he assumes would be the end. The end, to Marlow, is still unknown. He wants to assume that he’d simply die, brutally or swiftly ( _‘hopefully,’_ he thought,) but nothing so far has cemented that except for the fact that he’s faced against a clown.

                And clowns have always been such terrifyingly chaotic beings.

                Marlow could feel his brain clanging cymbals, flashing bright red all over his eyesight. Everything happening at that current moment spelled nothing but danger. The clown, looming with it’s dominant size over Marlow’s obviously unathletic body; the scent of raw meat coming to somewhat of a conclusion in Marlow’s mind as to why it’s such a prominent scent; the tension in the air bringing nothing more than pressure onto Marlow’s weak shoulders- everything spelled out danger to Marlow.

                When Marlow was younger, he was never really equipped with the right tools to handle confrontations and particular situations. When he began maturing, his parents eventually had to come around and teach him how to handle anything that brought him trouble. His parents, who were the type to abide by _‘Live and Let Go’_ as a rule of thumb, understood that that was not always an efficient way to approach every obstacle in Marlow’s path.

                Instead, they’ve taught him the wonders of calming down. They still wanted their young writer to live a peaceful life similar to theirs, but the world was changing. They needed to change with the world, too.

                One day, Marlow came home in tears. Eyes as red as his cheeks, he had cried about a bully in his new school. His parents held him, tightly, and gently taught him a way to deal with such confrontations.

                _“When you lower your shoulders, take a breath, and set your fears aside, - then you will find peace and that’s all you will need.”_

                Peace, the idea of peace overcoming Marlow’s fragile human body worried the clown. Instead of the shaking and babbling and crying and begging that delicious fear brought, the clown found a human standing its grounds with nothing but peace residing in their spirit.

                The essence of fear was nowhere to be found.

                Of course, this wasn’t an unusual scenario. Clown-loving fools and other odd individuals have found themselves unafraid upon seeing the clown, but peace? Peace was not the same as ecstasy, or excitement, or curiosity. Peace was calm, still, and it was an optimistic thing to have in one’s spirit. The clown realized that he cannot do anything about the human.

                “Hey, I really hate to interrupt your, uh, deep thoughts but I have to ask, what is your name?”

                The thoughts in the clown’s mind stopped.

                A name?

                It had a name, for the corporeal body it took form of.

                The clown, for a moment (a rather _brief_ moment), was startled. There is nothing absolutely special about this human. There is nothing startling, unusual, new, or really, anything worth nothing with this one particular human. The clown knew this very well, too well for comfort. It knew that this walking sack of meat was bound to be meal soon.

                However, it couldn’t help but feel something different.

                “Pennywise.”

                The clown’s voice maintained it’s unusual pitch, but Marlow noticed that it sounded more solid than before. If Marlow had to be honest, he found its voice oddly pleasant to listen to.

                “Pennywise, the _dancing_ clown,” the clown repeated once more, adding a little jump with the word dancing. This intrigued Marlow.

                “Dancing?” Marlow couldn’t help but smile a little. He was no athlete, his body and posture did enough to show that fact, but he learned to appreciate a passion or two. One of his previous partners was a performer, dancing on a stage with bright lights and loud music. Of course, _previous_ is the key term here, as the two ended shortly after they began. Despite the short-lived relationship, Marlow likes to believe that it was a valuable and sentimental experience.

                Memories of an old life popped up before him. They weren’t special, but they were something to hold onto.

                “That’s pretty cool, I had an ex who did that,” Marlow said, losing the tension on his shoulders, “dancing, I mean.”

                Pennywise’s lips curled into a foul smile. The human showed signs of interest in dancing, perhaps Pennywise could turn an interest into a weakness. Perhaps, it thought, it could look at Marlow’s memories and bring upon him his anxieties personified. Perhaps, it thought, it could scare Marlow.

                Marlow continued speaking, seeing that the clown was still taking its sweet time responding.

                “It’s great! It’s uh, fun and full of energy which I guess is pretty cool,” Marlow said, the tension of the air leaving as memories carefully came about in his mind, “I see you’re not much of a talker, huh?”

                “Not much,” it responded, “I am content with simply... observing.”

                Marlow breathed out, gently. An odd yet familiar feeling came to his guts. It was that same feeling as to when the rollercoaster is about to descend from the first hill of the track. Marlow could feel a similar sensation, his body lifting up as gravity leaves, his guts being hooked onto the sky pulled towards it, and a slight sting in his eyes as the cart goes down. He was uncertain as to why this feeling was coming to him.

                Marlow, at this point, has found himself utterly full of peace and calmness. His mind had began replaying memories and blank sounds to rid himself of the threat that clanged noises and glared red at him. All that was left for him was to find a way to leave this scenario not dead and fully intact.

                Despite that, Pennywise’s response rang ominous bells.

                “Observing? What, uh, are you observing?” Marlow asked, not minding the closed gap between them.

                Pennywise grinned, cheeks red like apples. It was unfortunate that it did not find a meal in Marlow, but it was much more excited by a different discovery. It found a toy in Marlow, and it was excited to play with him.

                “You.”

                With that, everything Marlow could see snapped to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my eyes were literally squinting when i wrote this... finished this at 2:10 am so i probably.. havent fully gone over it but HEY AFTER SIX CHAPTERS WE FINALLY GET PENNY SAYING HIS NAME lakjdfljla i ws feeling tastey tastey depwession b4 this so i hope the emo went through and made it.. Good
> 
> i had to listen to like, pennywise asmr bc i realized shit !! i havent actually written as penny before!! im fuckt but whatever it's here and i think it's. pretty solid. i dont think penny would be much of a talker anyways, or at least the 2017 penny. i think hes more the type to talk when he needs to or wants to talk, ykno? 1990 jsut has a permanent comedy show on run so obv im not writing tht bc. clearly im not funny
> 
> anyways
> 
> as always  
> thank u so much for reading!!! im sorry it took me like, 6 chapters 2 get pennywise's name in and also move the setting lajkdfljalfa but i hope u stick around for the next chaptie!!! :^))

**Author's Note:**

> oh hello? hi? thanks for reading all the way through (or scrolling at the bottom, either or idrc.) uhhh i like comments theyre dope.


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